After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the
DailyDiapers Story Index
I gazed out
of the bedroom window but from the angle I lay in bed
all I could see was grey. Not clouds, although that’s
what it was, but just a complete fusion of depressing
grey. A sheet of grey filled the space that was my
window... another boring grey day.
Wide awake but
not ready to get up I was warm snuggled under the duvet
cover, yet when I moved my feet, I could tell they were
cold. I often woke up with cold feet but they seemed at
odds with the rest of my snuggly warm body. I turned
from the window and decided to try and drop back off. I
felt cosy, except for my feet, and hugged the duvet
tighter. I closed my eyes and hoped that this action
alone would bring the desired slumber... alas no.
trying to get the most comfortable position wasn’t
helping and the duvet had come out at the foot of the
bed... thus explaining my cold feet. I curled into the
foetus position and rested for a few seconds but it
wasn’t as comfortable as I’d been led to believe such a
position offered - after all, don’t the unborn rest in
such a fluid embrace?
Still with my
eyes closed, I shuffled around to gain a better
situation but all evaded such a search. When I opened my
eyes again I was facing the window and that same cold,
grey scene hadn’t changed. I sighed... grey was
definitely my colour. I suppose this was a slight
improvement because only a few months earlier everything
had been black and pointless.
I wondered what
the time was. Usually, if the weather was harsh, the
heating came on at seven. With my cold right foot I
furtively reached out to the nearby radiator and felt it
was just warming up so it was just after seven.
although I was now wide awake I didn’t want to get up. I
thought about turning on the TV, I could read for a bit,
I could... actually I could get up and have some
breakfast. That was quite appealing because, if I
dropped off, then no doubt I’d sleep heavily and wake up
too late to eat before I had to rush showering, dressing
and getting ready for school in general. I hated these
grey mornings. They didn’t inspire anything except to do
the bull by the horns (or simply because there was
nothing better to do) I rolled out of bed and looked out
the window. The threat of further rain hung in the air
and judging by the large pools that had gathered in
various parts of the garden, showers had been persistent
throughout the night. I hadn’t heard a thing. On the
desk were last night’s homework and the half-drunk can
of Coke. I finished that in two gulps. Yuk, I hate room
mirror showed I was just as grey as the morning, my
baggy grey sleep shorts and even baggier t-shirt made me
look like a bedraggled bin-bag. My inflated groin also
indicated that my night time protection had served its
purpose and it would probably be beneficial to get to
the bathroom sooner than later to avoid the morning
I was first so
happily locked the bathroom door to deter any voices
from my family begging to come in ‘for just a minute’.
With my shorts and t-shirt removed I stood for a moment
taking in the view of my plastic pants and soaked nappy.
This was a sight that had been greeting me for the past
six or so months and although I was used to it... it
still made me shrug at the state I was in. The shiny
white plastic was tight and smooth where the nappy
underneath had expanded, so it looked like I no longer
had any male attributes, just a sleek, glossy pouch
front and back.
When I’d started
wetting the bed mum was quick to advise this simple
precaution and though an unhappy fourteen year-old (I’m
fifteen now) protested, eventually I did see the obvious
benefit. Now six months on, I dread to think what state
my bed, bedding and my mental capacity would be like had
I not taken notice of her guidance.
My elder sister
thought it was cute that I wear a nappy to bed. For some
reason she thinks that seeing a lad my age wearing a
nappy is a ‘joy to behold’ (her words) and even
suggested to mum that she puts my two younger brothers
back into nightly protection... for no other reason than
she thinks it looks so sweet.
She isn’t awful
or sneering about it, she just thinks it suits me
(shrug). Perhaps she is sneering at me? My two younger
brothers bridled at the jokey suggestion from our sister
and think it shameful, and reflects badly on them, that
they have an older brother who still wets himself,
albeit, in the privacy of his slumber. Because of the
‘shame’ they hadn’t told anyone and shun me as much as
they dare in front of mum and dad, who on the whole are
as supportive as they can be.
They’ve told my
brothers and sister that no one was to discuss, joke or
say anything about my ‘predicament’ on pain of some, as
yet unspecified, punishment. It is hard to see what
punishment they could inflict on Carol my sister, she’s
eighteen and not about to take crap from anyone least of
all from anyone who couldn’t take a joke. However, as I
say, she was OK with it.
My two younger
brothers, eight year-old Simon and ten year-old Keith
had both been grounded for saying something they
shouldn’t and both resented me as a result. In the end I
asked mum and dad not to be hard on them as “... I
could take a joke.”
Anyway, as I
peeled down the plastic and stepped out of the soft warm
vinyl the back of the nappy sagged, which I don’t know
if you know, but is a strange sensation. That moment
when something held tight up against your body suddenly
lets in some fresh air... it’s quite a ’shock’. Although
I’m quite used to it now that little bit of movement has
a strange effect on me. I always seem to let out a
little ‘groan’ and a shiver runs through my body. It’s
like a little sexual thrill. Well, perhaps not sexual...
but that ‘groan’ is not one of displeasure that’s for
I don’t hang
around too long because I know the bathroom is prime
territory that time of a morning. So, I cast off the wet
material and throw it in the ‘smelly bin’, as Keith has
christened it, and quickly get myself under the shower.
Almost as soon as I turn on the taps there’s a knock on
the door and an urgent juvenile demand, which I
identified as Simon, telling me to ‘hurry up’.
I know I’ve only
got a couple of minutes before the knocks and shouts get
more insistent (I’ve done it myself if I’m late) but I
concentrate the soap and water mainly around my hairless
crotch. This was something mum advised very early on.
She told me that my pubic hair would retain the smell of
urine and would be a breeding ground for germs and such
like. The idea of permanently smelling of piss actually
scared me into shaving the area and I have kept it
smooth and clear ever since. It certainly makes putting
the various creams and powder on easier and avoids
Anyway, I was
under a time scale so before anyone got a chance to
complain I finished, wrapped a towel around my waist and
returned to my grey bedroom. I heard Carol sneak in
ahead of Simon much to his angry annoyance.
I don’t have any
wetting problems during the day, it’s only when I’m
unconscious that the problem presents itself. So, I can
dress for school pretty much as normal, although mum did
buy some teenage pull-ups ‘just in case’ which I
have worn a couple of times but that’s because I fancied
That’s the other
thing. Now I have to wear a nappy at night I’m not
filled with resentment because the powers that be
(doctors and the internet) have said it will stop when
it stops. For some that won’t be much of an answer but
for me that about sums up my attitude to life... what
happens - happens.
didn’t get to this point easily though mum and dad are
pretty persuasive in their logical argument and made me
see the futility of getting in a state over a simple and
useful piece of material. I remember on that first
occasion after I’d left the bed that morning in a very
soaked state the anger and embarrassment when mum put me
into the protection for the very first time.
She was all calm
and explained every aspect of what she was doing and
why. Of course, I was fourteen at the time, hated the
process and fought desperately to try and block out what
was happening. However, mum insisted that I took notice,
as she declared that if my problem lasted any length of
time, I’d have to do all this myself, and I needed to
know the positives and pitfalls of the situation.
I didn’t know
there was so much in the preparation and execution of
simply putting on a nappy. Although she made it look
easy, when I tried the result was pretty disastrous.
Perhaps I should
tell you a little more about my situation.
Six months ago
on my way home from school I witnessed my best friend
Jamie being knocked down and killed by a maniac driving
dangerously. He just wasn’t stopping for anyone or
anything and drove past the school at speed. Frightened
kids were leaping out of the way but Jamie was on the
crossing when he was hit. I was two feet away from him
but the driver missed me though the impact on my best
friend was fatal. He was dragged along under the car for
several yards before it only stopped as it hit a tree.
My friend was dead at the scene – my body’s reaction to
the event? My pants involuntarily filled by witnessing
such horrifying carnage.
hasn’t helped at all. I still dream about that incident
and have done repeatedly for the past six months. Once
every two weeks I see a school psychiatrist, as do a
couple of other key witnesses, but so far the dreams and
horror are still there and I just can’t seem to block it
out, especially when I’m asleep.
as I sleep, I’m so traumatised by the dream of that
event... that same scared bodily reaction repeats in my
nappy time after time. Dragging myself awake at these
moment has proved impossible. You’d think that my mind
would insist that I get away from the horror but no -
like that guy from Greek myth that is destined to push a
boulder continually up a hill only for it to roll down
again... that’s me... no escape.
I assume that’s
why my parents and sister are pretty understanding.
Although they hoped I’d be over the worst by now, they
know there’s a reason behind these nocturnal incidents.
However, the younger members of the family just find the
constant aroma of pee emanating from my bedroom, and of
course me being older, too much to understand. They hate
to see my nappies out on the washing line as they’re
sure people will think they’re for them and they object
even when my plastic pants are drying in the bathroom.
No doubt at their age I was a little twat as well.
The other thing
is... it’s not always that dream that sees me wetting
the bed... there are other things, which really confuses
me. Sometimes I haven’t dreamt at all... or at least
have no recollection but still my nappy is soaked.
traumatised,” my parents say compassionately. “It will
take time to adjust but don’t worry... you will and
you’ll be able to put this entire thing behind you.”
I’m not sure it
will. Part of me thinks that I’m wetting the bed as
punishment for my friend being killed and I escaped
unharmed. What is it they call it - Karma or
something similar? Whatever it is I
feel guilty for being alive and a wet nappy is my due.
accident (though it was no accident) I could hardly
speak to anyone. I shook and cried constantly and tried
to keep the world away by locking myself in my bedroom.
Jamie’s cruel and dramatic death was all around me and I
couldn’t cope. I didn’t understand how I was ‘saved’ and
every time I closed my eyes I heard that awful thud, the
shrieks of those who witnessed it and in my mind saw a
repeat of the event. Each time, as I looked along the
trail of blood and flesh, I was left wondering - why him
and not me?
This was where
the psychiatrist came in. The school and, well, just
about everybody, said I needed to see one. I didn’t want
to but the pressure won out. We talked and talked. He
wrote stuff down and listened and if another twat ever
says “...and how did that make you feel?” I swear
I’ll kill the bastard.
angry (and to a certain extent still am) at the world.
difficult being angry at your own family who are trying
to do their best, but, you know that grey cloud I
mentioned earlier? Well that surrounds me all the time
and even when I try to be upbeat, positive (and all the
other stuff the psychiatrist as asked me to be) I feel
that cloud raining down. I suppose (and I’m thinking
aloud here), that grey cloud is just an extension of my
bedwetting started I was horrified, a lad my age having
such a childish problem, but my parents had been quick
to act. They knew, or whatever sixth-sense parents have,
that it was because of the trauma of the event. Mum
efficiently gathered together nappies, plastic pants and
creams and stuff so despite my initial denial and
tantrum, I eventually saw the reasoning. I think that
was down to dad’s firm words more than my own
rationalising. They weren’t taking “No” for an answer.
I’ve gotten used to wearing thick protection at night,
and yes I realise I need it, I’ve become less worried
because of the security that the thick fluffy material
has to offer. The sleek plastic pants keep everything in
place and less floppy... so wearing a nappy isn’t now a
problem. If anything, it’s made me calmer, a lot less
annoying, angry or argumentative at home and school...
though I rarely wear a nappy to school.
The reason for
this is... a few days ago I had a type of
‘revelation’. I got it into my head that this is
Jamie’s way of trying to spare me blame. I mean I still
carry ‘survivor’s guilt’ (as the psychiatrist called it)
but my friend said (in my head at least) “Look, I
know you feel terrible about what’s happened, and even
though it wasn’t your fault, you feel responsible in
some way. So, I know you need to feel bad about
something so, from now on, you’re going to wet the
bed... and that can be your penance.”
I know this
inner style analysis is stupid but it made me feel
better and, I guess, and this is the main thing, I could
actually imagine my best mate coming up with such a
crappy and humiliating penalty. Jamie and I were close
and despite being the best of friends constantly played
jokes on each other... it was our way. Having the other
embarrassed was no reason not to be the best of friends.
However, as I
said earlier, when I release those morning plastic pants
and my soaked nappy droops... for a split second a
strange shiver runs through my body. That’s him saying,
“...well there’s no reason not to get ‘something’ out
sometimes that grey cloud hangs menacingly above my head
now I don’t feel it will overwhelm me; those dark,
self-harming, thoughts that nearly took control have, if
not banished, at least allowed a stray ray of
understanding to break through.
There had been
times at the beginning when I wondered what the point of
it all was. The randomness of life (and death) had
scared me, the bedwetting just added to my shameful lack
of control of even my body. Early on I’d even written a
‘farewell’ note to the family... it’s still in my
exercise book... but...
Despite all that
anger mum and dad had taken matters on board and sorted
one problem out by simply making me wear a piece of
material at night. A simple and effective containment, I
still wet but it affected no one else... they’d given me
back some control. Now I’ve determined that Jamie loves
a wind-up I can appreciate it on a different level.
a cheeky friend and I miss him; his humour, daftness and
love of a prank lingers in the fact I have to wear a
nappy. So now, for the moment, whether I want to or
not... I’m pissing my nappy in memory...
not on the memory of my best mate... nutty eh?
#### .... ####
After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the
DailyDiapers Story Index